Many Faces of Home

Kendall Johnson

 

The world I come from and the world I live in now are two different places.

 

Growing up, I lived in the tamed country. My home was surrounded by horse farms and agriculture and open roads. Summers were spent running wild and barefoot during the day and chasing fireflies at dusk with calloused and dirty feet.

 

Fall was the season when my father would stop the decrepit Suburban on Pisgah Pike just to rescue the oblivious wooly worms that had found their way to civilization. Our corn stalks stood high, but only until they were discovered by the dogs who would then frolic in them.

 

Winters were spent huddled around one of the many fireplaces in our home, the propane tank that heated the Old Farm House refused to last through yet another ice storm. The coldest of all nights was always Christmas Eve when I would make my father extinguish all the fires so that Santa Claus wouldn’t get burned when he delivered our presents via the chimney.

 

We moved into town when I began high school.

 

That was when I first felt the eyes of the old, conventional Southerners judging the few, the young, the unconventional. My priorities were no longer bare feet and adventure, but finding myself in this constricting society. The culture of Kentucky did not seem rugged and free, but now felt entirely snobbish and conservative. I began to realize what the society in which I lived entailed, the Mexicans whom I used to mow alongside were called anything but their real names by peers and adults. The only acceptable outfit was a steady rotation of riding boots, preppy vests, and simple cotton shirts with a logo that alone cost $200. People around me refused to acknowledge the outside world because they thought that this way of life was the only way of life, that no other ideas or people should come in a destroy “Southern Culture” -- solely because they had never known anything but. I found myself succumbing to this fake utopia.

 

A few years ago, I caught myself before I tripped down a slippery slope of forced southern charm and tense, competitive social gatherings.

 

There are many things I love about my world, but this, I was learning, was not one of them.

 

I wanted to meet people who weren't wearing the same cookie cutter uniform. I wanted to talk to people who had thoughts about the nation and the world as a whole, not just the gossip of this small place. I appreciated the art of horse racing, the local pride of our world famous bourbon, Woodford Reserve, and our prestigious horse farms. I did not, however, love the close minded ideals that clouded the atmosphere; I felt suffocated. I am still, sometimes, suffocated when met with the idea that I could potentially never see the whole world in all its imperfection and wonder.

 

I want to make my own decisions on what type of life I want to live. Growing up somewhere that was so deceiving taught me this. As a child, we live without social expectations. We are unburdened with the judgement of others. As a young adult, we learn what our society and our family members expect. All too often, we only listen to their advice and don't seek out our own paths.

 

My goals are not to make beaucoup bucks to flash in everyone's face in the form of clothes and cars and white picket fence barbecues. My goal is to soak up knowledge that only experience and the terror of unknown territory can provide me. My dreams and aspirations are to be awakened to the reality of other people's hardships and high points. To be a stranger in a different culture, to make a positive change, wherever I end up.

 

My community taught me that I want to become a child again: to adventure, to show compassion for even the tiniest of insects, to entertain the notions of fantasy, to power through the most difficult, cold times with a group of people whose experiences I can learn from, and who can learn from my experiences, in turn.

 

Kentucky will always be home, it is a source of comfort,  I have figured it out. I know how to fit in. I love the memories of childhood that it provides me.

However, Kentucky is not my final destination. Where I am living now is just a house... The tempestuous future awaits -- it is there that I will find my true home, the place I love and the place that I can be myself.